


For a Change

by MissNaya



Category: DCU
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Facials, Hate Sex, M/M, Objectification, Puberty, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:26:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Tim notices everything, whether he wants to or not. He knows by the clothes Dick wears whether he’s on-again or off-again with Barbara (tight pants and polo shirts mean on-again). He remembers how many bullets Jason has left even when Jason himself forgets. And he knows that Damian has been jerking off to the thought of him for atleastseveral weeks.





	For a Change

**Author's Note:**

> yet another commission, and my first polished damitim fic. thanks to [chronicallyNaughty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicallyHaughty/pseuds/chronicallyNaughty) for the idea!

Tim notices everything, whether he wants to or not. He knows by the clothes Dick wears whether he’s on-again or off-again with Barbara (tight pants and polo shirts mean on-again). He remembers how many bullets Jason has left even when Jason himself forgets. And he knows that Damian has been jerking off to the thought of him for at  _ least _ several weeks.

It’s not like he was trying to figure it out. It’s just that Damian is much less of a mystery than he makes himself out to be, particularly now that he’s knee-deep in the throes of puberty. He remembers the night he first noticed, after a particularly rough patrol where Damian’s recklessness had cost Tim at least a dozen arrests. Bruce would have taken care of reprimanding him any other time, but he’d been off-world on official League business for months. That meant it was up to Tim to make sure the little demon knew exactly how much he’d messed up.

They’d gotten into a shouting match so loud it had scared the bats off of their perches high above their heads. Tim hadn’t intended for things to get so heated, but Damian had been unbearably smug about his anger, which only fed into it even more. Things culminated in a short scuffle; ages of pent-up frustration tipped the scales in Tim’s favor, and he had found himself pinning Damian against the nearest wall, arms wrenched behind his back, knee jabbing into the base of his spine.

“Wipe that smile off your face  _ now, _ ” he’d growled, carefully enunciating every word, “you bratty little  _ pain-in-the-ass. _ ”

He knew something went wrong when Damian stiffened and wrenched away from him. Even more so when he left the Cave without a single word, not even bothering to retaliate. For a tense few moments, Tim had wondered if he’d been too vicious, if he’d slipped up and let his rivalry with Damian get the better of him. He wasn’t his biggest fan, but he didn’t want their teamwork to suffer because of it. Resolving himself to choke out a quick, awkward apology, he had slipped silently upstairs to stand in front of Damian’s room.

The door was cracked. Damian’s door was  _ never _ open, so he had to have been in a really sorry state to be so careless. Tim had raised a hand to knock, but paused in mid-air when he heard it.

A small gasp. The tiniest, simplest noise, that he thought at first might mean Damian was actually crying. But there, underneath it, was something else, a quick and wet  _ schlp-schlp-schlp _ that Tim recognized all too well. Then there was another noise, a much less ambiguous one, followed by a breathy voice that grunted out, “ _ Drake. _ ”

He’d turned and left after that.

 

That had been the first time, but it certainly wasn’t the last. Once Tim was able to recognize certain signs in Damian — increased agitation, tense shoulders, fingers that twitched by his sides whenever they argued — it was easy to calculate when he’d reach his breaking point (always signified by a quick, silent retreat to his room as soon as their night’s work concluded). The few times he’d gone back upstairs to confirm his hypothesis, he’d heard those sounds again; the gasping, the moaning, and, every once in a while, his name.

Those nights, he’d have the Cave to himself, with ample time to work on his projects without fielding snarky comments from the Demon Brat. It was peaceful. It was productive.

Which is why, he told himself, he’d started to take a less passive approach.

It didn’t take much. Damian’s hormones burned like an underground coal fire, so constant and intense that sometimes Tim liked to imagine he could actually smell them polluting the air. Just one fleeting touch, or a tongue darting between his lips to catch an errant drop of coffee, would have Damian’s dark skin reddening and set his teeth on edge like an animal trying to ward off a predator.

It was heady, being that predator for once.

 

Maybe that’s why he still can’t stop himself from taunting Damian, weeks later. It’s their new normal, something he slips effortlessly into their inevitable bickering. It’s wrong, he knows, to mess with him like that, but in his defense, it’s like Damian has actually gotten  _ more _ determined to piss him off recently.

“That’s wrong,” Damian says, for what has to be the fiftieth time that night. He leans forward, one hand braced on the back of Tim’s chair, the other pointing toward one of the monitors displaying the schematics Tim’s drawn up for a new, discreet surveillance camera design. “Your measurements for the lens are  _ completely _ off, Drake. This work is even shoddier than usual.”

“You’re reading it wrong,” Tim responds flatly. “That’s 61, not 87.”

“Well, your handwriting is atrocious.”

Instead of batting Damian’s arm away, Tim grabs him by the wrist and lowers it. He delights in the way Damian doesn’t yank back until after he lets him go.

“Why don’t you hit the showers?” he asks. “I can’t concentrate if you’re gonna crowd me with your B.O. all night.”

Damian’s indignant little sputter is music to his ears. “I refuse to take hygiene tips from a hermit like you!”

“Uh-huh,” Tim says. He tips his teacup up to his face, as if trying to mask Damian’s smell with its aroma. In reality, the kid’s fine, but he figures it’s enough to get him worried about whether or not Tim truly can smell the rush of testosterone in the air.

“Don’t dismiss me,” Damian snarls. When Tim still doesn’t respond, he grabs the back of the chair and spins it around. “I’m  _ talking _ to you!”

The sudden movement causes some of the tea to slosh out of the cup and splatter on Tim’s pants. By now, it’s lukewarm, so it’s little more than an inconvenience, but it’s an inconvenience that signifies tonight’s gonna be a long one unless he can get Damian under control. The kid’s already standing like he’s won, with his back straight and his arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied little smirk on his face.

With a sigh, Tim reaches back to set his cup down.

“Why do you always do this?” he asks.

Damian, clearly caught off-guard by the question, wrinkles his nose. “Do what?”

“Get on my nerves.” Tim stands, pleased to see he’s still a couple inches taller than Damian. “You really want my attention that bad?”

“D-don’t be  _ stupid, _ ” Damian says, doing a poor job to disguise the stutter in his voice. “I merely wish to keep you from completely ruining our operations.”

“You can’t go one night without starting something, can you?” Tim asks.

He takes one step forward. Damian takes one back.

“I—”

“No. Shut up.” When Damian opens his mouth to protest, Tim shoves him by the shoulder, advancing on him more. “It’s like ever since we fought, you’ve been raring to go again. You want to see me angry, don’t you?”

Some of the color drains from Damian’s face. He seems to momentarily stop breathing.

“Don’t give me that stupid look. You don’t get to pick fights and then back down from them, brat.” Once they’re within arm’s reach of a wall, Tim grabs Damian by the shirt and slams his back against it. “You want a rematch? Let’s get it over with. The  _ adults _ have  _ work _ to do.”

There it is. The tensing shoulders. The way his hands almost shake when he wraps them around Tim’s wrists. Damian’s eyes dart back and forth as if searching for an exit, something like panic on his face.

“Drake, this is—  _ Unhand _ me—”

“You wanted to talk,” Tim says, lowering his voice. “Let’s talk.”

Damian says nothing. He squirms, shoulders writhing, but Tim keeps him pinned against the wall. Try as Damian may to wrench Tim’s hands off of him, all he succeeds in doing is spurring Tim to grab his wrists and slam them back against the rock face.

By the time Damian’s hands are pinned beside his head, they’re both panting, despite not exerting much effort.

“Drake,” Damian says. It’s almost a plea.

Tim ignores him and glances down.

“...Hah. Are you serious?” he asks, as if he’s actually surprised to see Damian’s hard-on straining in his pants. “Is this  _ getting you off? _ ”

Damian spits out a few words in Arabic that don’t sound very kind. He tops it all off with, “I hate you, Drake, I  _ hate _ —”

Tim’s knee between his legs chokes his words off into a feral-sounding hiss. His head tosses back to  _ thunk _ hard against the wall.

Tim doesn’t know why he did it. Surely this is too far even for them. But the way Damian’s mouth falls open, the way he actually  _ keens _ from the firm grind of Tim’s kneepad into his crotch, it all makes it seem worth it in that moment.

“So that’s why,” he murmurs, vaguely aware that his lips have found their way to the underside of Damian’s jaw. “You just wanted me to manhandle you again, didn’t you?”

Though it comes out several octaves higher and tighter than usual, Damian manages to spit out, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Tim bites him, right on the soft spot between jaw and neck. He hears Damian rush to muffle his resulting moan.

He realizes then that this is actually happening. Here they are, in the middle of the damn Batcave, him with Bruce’s fucking  _ son _ hard and gasping up against the wall.

Okay, yeah, this has totally crossed the line from “taunting” to something else entirely. He’s gonna need to replace all the surveillance tapes from tonight before Bruce gets back.

But he can worry about that later.

For now, he moves his leg around, watching the way Damian’s hips twitch and stutter with every new burst of sensation. He doesn’t hear anything, though. When he looks up, he realizes it’s because Damian is biting his lip hard enough that a trail of blood drips down his chin.

Without thinking, he leans forward and licks it up. It startles Damian long enough for Tim to get a thumb between his teeth and pry his mouth open.

“Uh-uh,” he says. He can scarcely believe the husky sound that comes out of his mouth is  _ his _ voice, but he loves the way it makes Damian’s eyes darken with lust. “You’re gonna let me hear you.”

Damian’s knees practically buckle at the command, his eyelashes fluttering while his eyes roll up into the back of his head. He doesn’t utilize his now-free hand to try to get away. He just moans, low and helpless.

Tim licks his too-dry lips. With the taste of Damian’s blood lingering there, he says, “There you go. Now, get on your knees.”

Damian tries his best to glare, he really does. But, drooling around Tim’s thumb, cock throbbing against his knee, he doesn’t look very intimidating. Tim guides him down with the hand holding his mouth open. The second Damian is kneeling at his feet, he removes his thumb and snatches him up by the hair.

“...Look what you did,” he says, sticking his tea-stained leg forward. “Why don’t you clean me up, brat?”

Damian’s nostrils flare. He’s never looked more humiliated, more livid, more  _ aroused. _ “You  _ pervert. _ ”

“Says the one who got hard getting pushed around,” Tim says. Thrusting his leg forward more indignantly, he says, “Now, clean. Up. Your. Mess.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before tugging Damian’s face flush with his thigh. Damian muffles some sort of noise against the fabric, brow set in a hard crease, eyes fluttering shut. His hands come up, but rather than push Tim away, he tangles shaky fists around the back of his leg.

Christ, what a sight.

Tim has to swallow a lump in his throat to ensure he doesn’t lose his cool, unaffected tone. “About time you finally learn some responsibility. I guess that’s why you act out so much? All you needed was someone to put you in your place instead of kowtowing to you. Go figure.”

Damian bares his teeth. “My  _ place _ is not at your  _ feet,  _ Drake.”

“It is, though,” Tim says. “I know you’re a big, bad al Ghul and all, but the thing is? I don’t care. Act like a little prince all you want, but you’re doing way better as my washing machine right now.”

Damian glares up at him, snarling, eyes wide. “You…!”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Tim says, and tugs him back into place again.

 

For the next few minutes, it’s almost as if a fog has descended over them. Damian huffs and licks until Tim’s pants are even wetter than they were before, and Tim guides him up and down, occasionally pressing the toe of his boot between Damian’s legs when he sucks a spot of fabric clean.

They keep it up until there’s no reason for Damian to continue. The scent of tea has been replaced with something thick and musky, a spit-slick sort of filthiness that makes Tim feel like he’s floating.

Slowly, gradually, he guides Damian’s mouth toward the straining bulge in his pants. They meet each other’s eyes, Tim’s cool blue against Damian’s hazy green.

“...You pervert,” Damian sighs again, before lifting his trembling hands to undo Tim’s belt.

It’s clear once Tim’s dick is out that Damian doesn’t quite know what to do. He looks overwhelmed, his mouth impossibly small beside Tim’s length, which isn’t enormous, but it’s definitely big in proportion.

“Wrap your hands around me,” Tim says. “Open your mouth.”

Damian, shockingly obedient, does what he’s told. Their eyes remain locked as Tim slowly rocks his hips forward.

Damian’s mouth stretches wide to accommodate him. It’s hot and wet and soft, and it takes all of Tim’s self-control to thrust at a steady, shallow pace instead of the frantic one he wants to set. Damian doesn’t quite know how to move his mouth and hands in tandem, and he sucks and licks separately as if he can’t remember to do both at the same time, but despite his inexperience, it feels incredible. Just to have Damian on his knees, looking up at him without malice for once, drives Tim absolutely crazy.

God, he’s going to Hell. But he may as well enjoy the trip.

The wet little suckling sounds Damian makes seem impossibly loud in the vast emptiness of the cave. Tim rocks his hips faster to hear more of them, interspersed with Damian’s tiny, muffled noises. Damian shocks him by leaning forward all at once, making eye contact while he somehow takes Tim down his throat without gagging.

Little overachiever.

Tim clamps a hand down over his mouth to muffle a moan. Damian’s eyes sparkle with mischief; Tim knows he has to think fast to maintain his advantage, so he rolls with the development, fucking in and out of Damian’s tight throat.

“I, ah… Mmn…” Tangling his fingers in Damian’s bangs, he holds him steady for a few extra seconds when his cock is deep inside. “...I’m gonna come on your face, little prince.”

That does it. Damian’s eyes go wide, then his brow furrows, and he makes a gagging little moan that sends drool bubbling up out of the corners of his mouth. He grips Tim’s shirt as if to pull him even closer, betraying his true feelings even though he makes muffled sounds of protest.

“What?” Tim asks. “Don’t like that? Don’t like that I’m gonna mark you up, demon brat? Well—  _ hahh _ — too bad. I think it’s a good punishment, don’t you?”

Damian holds up one rather rude finger. Tim holds his head down in response until he feels Damian’s throat muscles pulse and flutter around him.

“Damian,” he says once he starts moving again, “you’re going to touch yourself. Get yourself off with my cum all over your face. You understand me?”

Damian’s wide eyes spell out his compliance for him, but Tim wants to hear it. He pulls his cock out, dragging it over Damian’s cheek while he gasps for breath.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, surprised by how authoritative he sounds.

“Drake—”

Possessed by some animalistic frenzy, Tim smacks the side of Damian’s face with his cock. “Say it.”

“ _ Ya Allah. _ Tim—”

Hearing his name uttered in such reverent desperation makes Tim’s cock twitch. He wipes the resulting bead of precum on Damian’s bottom lip.

“Say. It.”

“I understand,” Damian gasps. “I understand.”

Tim pries Damian’s hands off of his cock and begins to stroke himself instead. “Then do it, Damian. Touch yourself for me.”

Damian’s name seems to have the same effect on him. Immediately, his hands go to his waistband, rushing to free his cock. Tim catches sight of it, flushed and red and no doubt oversensitive from its previous rough treatment, before Damian closes both hands around it.

The Cave is overtaken by the sounds of gasping and moaning and the obscene wet slapping sound of their hands on their cocks. Damian, Tim notes, hasn’t even taken his gloves off. He wonders if he’s too deep in the throes of pleasure to care, or if this is how he normally likes to do it, creating friction to make it hurt just a bit. With how he reacted when his knee was between his legs, Tim has a hunch it’s the latter.

He’s not sure what pushes him over the edge specifically: the thought of Damian handling himself so roughly in order to get off, or the way his tongue lulls out of the side of his mouth, curling against the underside of Tim’s cock to encourage him to finish. Every bit of his face is slick with either sweat or spit or precum, his cheeks flushed red, perfectly disheveled, no,  _ almost  _ perfect—

And then he comes, splashing Damian’s forehead and cheek and eyelid and rubbing off the excess from his tip onto Damian’s waiting tongue. Now, dripping and whining and positively ruined,  _ now _ he’s perfect.

“Good boy,” he says, “good boy.”

Damian cries out and arches and comes all over Tim’s shoes.

He’ll have to make him bend down and clean that mess up, too.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on [tumblr](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/) before The Man takes our internet porn access


End file.
